THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 003 ] five meets zara, the knock-off carnivorous fish

III.

f i v e   m e e t s   z a r a ,
t h e   k n o c k - o f f
c a r n i v o r o u s   f i s h

—ZARA SAT ON A barstool in Griddy's Donuts, listening to Kiki hum the Jurassic Park theme song, and thinking about how strange modern-day Americans smelled.

That was what had struck her most about this dingy little city—the difference in smell compared to her home at the Commission.

There were no dusty case files, and no pine needle scents drifting in from outdoors, and very little of that garish perfume her mother liked so much.

In this particular cafe, the smell of coffee was overpowered by the smell of cold stuffiness, the sulphur smell of the cars outside, the smell of soap, and another smell that was much nicer. It came, Zara thought, from the boy sitting beside her.

Zara sniffed delicately, imbibing the odour of marshmallows and . . . was that peanut butter?

Interesting combination.

A waitress came to take her order. Zara asked for tequila, was denied, and finally settled on a hot chocolate which she hoped had at least a little liquor in it.

So it begins.

Her heart beat a little faster. Would it be alright? Would she be able to accomplish what she had set out to do? Surely—Surely it had all been thought out so carefully . . . she was prepared for every eventuality. Oh yes, she would succeed—she must succeed.

The corners of Zara's mouth curved upward. It was suddenly cruel, that mouth. Cruel and greedy—like the mouth of a young kitten—a mouth that knew only of its own desires and was yet unaware of pity.

She looked around her with the frank curiosity of a child.

There was a dark-haired boy sitting slouched beside her—the only other customer. He was insignificant, Zara might've thought—just another sulky teenager. But the bold, arrogant line of his jaw, and the eyes, murky green and intensely alive, caused Zara to alter her opinion.

Here was fire, and life, and vigour, and—Zara looked closer at him—pain.

Yes, pain. But why? Why would a boy so young have a face that masked so much anguish?

The waitress came over to the boy, asking if he wanted a glass of milk. "Coffee," he responded, speaking in a clear, polite, but completely autocratic tone. "Make it black."

"Black," remarked Kiki the parrot, making the boy turn his head. "Black, red, blue."

She hopped along the countertop to investigate him. The boy watched with faint amusement as the bird put up her crest, rubbing her head against his hand and purring like a cat.

He laughed nervously at this sudden display of affection, before drawing his hand away.

"Is she yours?" he asked Zara.

"Yeah," Zara replied mildly. "Sorry about that. We're new in town, and she gets excited. Kiki, take your head out of his pocket. What's this sudden craze for toffees? Do you want to get your beak stuck so that you can't talk?"